


Wolf Queen

by The_Queen_Of_Wolves



Series: Stannis x Sansa [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adult Content, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cunnilingus, Direwolves return, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Foreplay, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Independent North (ASoIaF), Justice, King Stannis Baratheon, Lust, Older Man/Younger Woman, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Queen in the North, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, Slow Burn, Smut, Stannis Baratheon Lives, Stannis the Mannis, The North Remembers (ASoIaF), Unrequited Lust, Unrequited Yearning, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:14:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24230395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Queen_Of_Wolves/pseuds/The_Queen_Of_Wolves
Summary: AU\ In which Sansa Stark rises from the ashes of her dead family and brings justice to those who have wronged her, with the help from the great southern King, Stannis Baratheon."They whispered about her in the cold, dark night of winter; they called her the Wolf Queen. Fierce, resilient, cold. The saviour of the North, the one true Queen of the North..."
Relationships: Joffrey Baratheon/ Sansa Stark (mentioned/ Non consensual), Sansa Stark/Ramsay Snow (Mentioned/ Non consensual), Stannis Baratheon/Sansa Stark
Series: Stannis x Sansa [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1513697
Comments: 30
Kudos: 161





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Thank you for reading. I wrote this story in the middle of the night some time last year so i apologise for any grammar or plot mistakes. I have about three chapters of this written already and will update as soon as university work permits.
> 
>   
> Edit: 02\2021: a reader on FF.net mentioned that Queen Selyse's fate in this story was not clear so i have remedied that. Any questions please direct them to the comments : D
> 
> Please leave kudos and comments.

_Wolf Queen_

_Chapter 1_

They whispered about her in the cold dark night of winter; of her cold beauty and of the darkness that seemed to embrace her wherever she went. The horrors Sansa Stark had endured had only made her more resilient, stronger, powerful. When all was lost to her she arose like a phoenix and built her kingdom up from the ashes; all who betrayed the Starks were dealt with. Her late father would have done the honourable thing, he would have put them to the sword and given them a swift death. But no, not, Sansa Stark; this Stark seethed and had stewed in her anger for nearly a decade. She didn’t want her enemies to have a swift and kind death…

Sansa Stark wanted them to pay with _blood._

And so they did, the Bolton’s went first, their screams echoing throughout the burnt halls of the once great keep of Winterfell, as the lone red-headed Queen strode through the broken gates of the ancient keep, her head held high. Her red hair flowing behind her, a silver diadem atop her head shining in the cool light of the early morning. Thousands of howls floated to her ears as her pack emerged, snapping, snarling, growling, ready to lay justice at the wolf Queens feet. They wanted justice just as much as she did. They could feel her constant anger, hear her pleas for justice. That’s how the wolves had found Lady Sansa in the first place. Cowering in the snow close to the strangers' door; the wolves descending on her, taking her in; making Sansa their Queen. Therefore installing the Starks back onto their throne and back into the game of thrones.

A pack of a thousand wolves stalked into the gates of Winterfell, the snarls of the great wolves sending the Bolton men into fits of fear. They loaded arrows and shot at the wolves; men emerged from the keep swords at the ready. They charged at the red-headed beauty, who smiled widely as her pack ascended on the Bolton men.

Their screams grew louder. Blood spilled, the snow glowing red as justice was dealt to the people who murdered her family.

Sansa Stark grinned.

...

Stannis Baratheon and his army were stationed approximately one hundred and twenty-five miles from Winterfell when the winter storm set in. When the cold came blistering through, shrouding his army in white, his wife had fallen like many before her and as many would after her. His war effort dying, shrivelling to nothing but ash stomped between the feet of men…

Food was scarce, his men cold and famished; they had resorted to the little food his encampment had left; every soldier and lord alike were served rationed food, including the great King himself. He would not gorge himself while his men suffered.

The red woman whispered in his ear daily, calling for sacrifices to send to the Lord of Light. She inched closer and closer to treason. She dared to mention his sweet scared daughters' name in her attempt to free them from this disastrous hell of a winter storm. This worried King Stannis. Any more words like that from her mouth would have her exiled.

The clans from the deep north claimed the weather could last for months. They were used to the winter storms, these men reviled in it. While his southern men huddled over the dwindling flames of the fire, the northern clans traversed through the snow, finding small things for the awaiting army to eat. Nuts, tree bark, worms. It was better than nothing. It provided vital nutrients to his men who were close to death. His army would not survive this… not for much longer.

...

The overwhelming smell of smoke woke King Stannis Baratheon. It wasn’t unusual to smell smoke within his camp, but the stench of burning flesh followed it.

He sprang from his bed.

What in the seven hells was the red priestess doing? He had ordered her; no sacrifices were to take place.

He dressed, quickly throwing his warmest cloak over his shoulders and his sword belt around his waist.  
  


Then he ran.

His men followed closely behind him; the smell had finally drifted to their side of the encampment. Who’s know how long she had been burning her sacrifices.

In the middle of the camp great flames enveloped tall log pyres, the burning remains of a human body silhouetted in the great red flames. Stannis felt his rage rise, how dare she! He had ordered no sacrifices and she has disobeyed him. The red woman stood closest to the flames, gazing into the heat; a smile among her lips, a red ruby glowing brightly at her pale throat.

“Melisandre! How dare you disobey me? I am your King!” The king yelled at her. He stood tall, his sword hand resting on the hilt. He almost glowed with his anger. “Glory demands sacrifice.” Was her answer. The red woman pulled someone small from behind her, she held his daughter! His poor Shireen. She was crying, begging her father to help her.

“Unhand her this instance!” The King roared stepping closer, unsheathing his sword Lightbringer with a metallic swoosh. Melisandre looked to him, still smiling. Her eyes gleamed red. “Glory demands sacrifice.” Before the king could blink, she pushed the princess into the flames.

Stannis cried out, scrambling towards the flames. His daughters scream filling the air “Father!! Father!! Help me.” she called.

Stannis was near, his hands reaching into the flames when a flash of grey pushed him out of the way. He fell to the snow-covered ground and watched in desperation as a wolf as large and a horse-pulled his daughter by the fabric of her dress from the flames. King Stannis Baratheon could only watch in a stunned silence as his daughter was dragged through the cold snow, the flames that burnt her dress dying as the snow diminished them; the wolf dragged his daughter right to the feet of a woman surrounded by wolves.

The woman was one of utter beauty, her red hair was a beacon of light in the dark night. Bright blue eyes that were so familiar to the king gazed down at the princess who was crying in fear. The woman tilted her head much like puppies do when they hear strange noises for the first time. She knelt down in the snow before the young girl. “Shhh,” she hushed the girl, the woman’s pale hand pulled the princess into her lap, stroking the Shireen’s hair to calm the hysteric girl. “You are safe now.” The woman promised, her pale fingers stroking Shireen’s black hair.

A silver diadem caught the light from the bright flames that still raged on. _That diadem was familiar to him._ King Stannis’s eyes widened ever so slightly, suddenly becoming perfectly aware of who stood before him. This was the girl he was trying to save, Lady Sansa Stark. It was _impossible!- she was supposed to be held captive._ Yet it seemed Sansa Stark didn’t need saving, no, instead she had risen from the ashes of her dead family, a pack of wolves at her side; fashioning herself as the Queen in the North

Stannis broke from his state of shock and ordered his men to grab the red woman and have her locked in chains. She would meet her justice when he knew his daughter was healthy and safe.

The King walked very calmly towards the red-headed beauty and his daughter, fully aware a multitude of hungry wolves watched on. He knelt beside Shireen, his hands going to the poor girl's scared face “Shireen...”

“I am okay father. She saved me.” The princess reassured her father. He looked her body over, noting the minimal burns to his daughters' hands and legs. Sansa looked to him, “My king.” She tilted her head baring her neck in a what Stannis assumed to be a submissive manner.

“Sansa Stark?” The woman nodded. It was then that Stannis came aware to his daughter who was lying in the snow, her head resting against Sansa’s fabric-covered lap. He turned to his men who watched on, awestruck by the beauty that had saved their princess. “Fetch the Maester and send him to my tents,”

“Immediately!” He ordered, gently taking Shireen into his arms.

He turned to Sansa Stark, “We have much to discuss.” She muttered. Urging the king to lead on with the swish of her delicate hand.

  
“Your wolves?” He gestured towards the group of ferocious-looking wolves of all sizes and colours. The woman’s smiled “They will hunt!” She waved her delicate pale hand at the wolves who turned, running into the tree line, following her order. The grey wolf that had saved his daughters' life staying behind, to protect their Queen. It was then that Stannis noticed this was no ordinary wolf, it was a Direwolf. The wolf was bigger than the average warhorse.

His heart rate increased; his head began to ache. His teeth grinding within his mouth, all unnoticed by him; kneeling in the snow the Baratheon king brought his daughter whimpering in his arms pain etched on her scared face, The Queen in the North following closely behind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome back, here is chapter 2. Thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos on chapter 1 !!!

_Chapter Two_   
_Wolf Queen_

“Pardon?”

“I have retaken Winterfell, the Direwolf flies high above the keep once more” the fiery queen reiterated. The Baratheon King furrowed his brow, his jaw clenching. “Why have you come here?” He asked simply. He was tired, so tired. Today had only worsened his state of unrest; if Stannis was going to be honest, he was beginning to feel defeated. He had travelled through blistering snows, lost men and provisions, lost hope, for the one thing that he needed to bend the North to his reign; only for her to turn up at his door, an army of wolves at her back.

“You want the North to bend the knee, correct?” Sansa sat across from him; her pale hands folded neatly in her lap. Stannis had never really noticed how delicate a woman’s hands could be. Sanaa’s looked soft, yet strong.

“Yes. As is my right as the rightful King of the seven kingdoms.” He fought the urge to grind his teeth. This woman was just stating the obvious.

“My late father used to tell stories of you,” Sana’a face remained unchanged “I was never supposed to listen to such gruesome stories, but I always loved tales of knights and kings,” her pale hand extended to the small table beside her, where a pitcher and goblet lie, she took the latter in her hand and took a small sip of the cool water, soothing her burning throat. “ I hid in the hall as a child and listened as he spoke to my older brothers of your deeds. He spoke very highly of you, of your honour, of how you lead.”

Stannis was unaware Eddard Stark had ever held anything but distaste for him. He had assumed Robert had bad-mouthed him to Eddard. But it seems he had been wrong. “As acting queen in the North, I will pledge House Stark and the Northern kingdom to your cause...” the king's eyes widened slightly,

“If...”,

‘Of course there’s an if’ he thought, holding back a sigh as he listened to Sansa Stark negotiate.

“When you head back south, you go by the route of the Twins.”

Stannis was confused, why would his route of travel be of any concern to her?

“Why?”

“Because the North will follow you, and the Frey’s will be eradicated” Stannis blinked,

“You wish for justice?”

The Lady Sansa stared, her blue eyes boring into his “Yes. The North remembers. We never forget. They will pay. Just as the Bolton’s did, just as the Lannister will.” she affirmed, her voice as cold as steel. A shiver ran up Stannis's spine. He understood her need and want for vengeance; the Frey’s had murdered her family, and nearly eradicated the great houses of the North; they had done so at the command of the one and only Tywin Lannister. The Great Lion. A thorn in Stannis’s backside, especially with the Tyrell's now riding under the Lannister banner.

“Until then, the North will remain independent and under the sovereign control of me.” She finished.

He had no choice, she was offering him everything he needed, she was offering an alliance.

“As you wish.” The Baratheon’s and the Starks were allied once more. And that as before could be a deciding factor in this war.

...

“My Lord,” the squire bowed, his head bent towards the cream stone floor “a missive from Lord Bolton”

Tywin Lannister, the great lion took the parchment scroll, reading the words inked on the page in Lord Bolton’s fine scrawl.

“The Wolf Queen marches on us. A thousand wolves as her back. Be warned. She comes. The North lives.”

Tywin clenched his fist, scrunching the parchment between his thick fingers. He breathed heavily, anger rising deep in his chest. Sansa Stark was supposed to be dead... there was no way the girl could have survived. She had gone missing from Kingslanding many moons ago. Tywin had suspected Petyr Baelish of taking the girl, as the mockingbird had, had a fixation to the girl due to her likeness to her late mother.

It was entirely possible that the girl had outsmarted him, after all Sansa Stark had watched and learnt from the very best of liars in her time in the capital; Cersei.

So it hasn’t really surprised Tywin when a raven had brought news of the mockingbirds' death. Petyr Baelish had been found dead crushed against the rocks of the Eyrie, blood, and brain matter pooling from his head. Tywin had then assumed that the girl was dead as well. He had been utterly wrong. He was never wrong.

The North was supposed to be his. He had tied it to the Crown with the loyalties of the Bolton’s; but now that was useless. The North was free, with a Queen at the ready. A Baratheon King close to her door. The prospect of a Stark and Baratheon’s allying themselves together would be their undoing, just as it had been Aerys Targaryen’s more than a decade ago. Together they would be sure to march on the capital. Be sure to put an end to the Lannister’s reign.

Tywin Lannister had much to do.

...

Stannis felt himself visibly relax in his saddle as Winterfell came into sight. Next to his horse Sansa Stark sat astride the great direwolf the had pulled his daughter from the flames of the red priestess’s sacrificial pyres. Melisandre had lost her head for her horrible act of treason.

Sansa Stark had led what was left of his army, her own army of wolves interlinking with his, towards Winterfell, towards safety. His men needed a reprieve, as did he. He needed to prepare, to wait for his most loyal man to return. Davos had returned to castle black in search of food and news of the west and had yet to return. Davos would be at loss for words with everything that had transpired over the last few days.

The grey direwolf Sansa sat astride felt warm beneath her heavy skirts; the wolf's grey fur insulating heat upwards keeping the queen in the North warm from the freezing elements that froze the men behind her. Even the great King Stannis looked visibly uncomfortable in the saddle of his warhorse.

The direwolf beneath her, lifted her heavy snout, sniffing the air. They were close.

Winterfell was near.

The king's back was straight, his head held high, his pale cheeks shining red due to the cold’ even his nose was flushed pink. Luckily a great beard covered his chin, bringing him some reprieve to the blistering wind. As the great halls of Winterfell came into sight Stannis couldn’t help the huff of relief that left his mouth. A hearth fire was calling for him and perhaps a soak in a hot bath? It would do him well to rid his body of the dirt that had sunk into his skin. Stannis wrinkled his nose, the smell of horse was a prominent one.

Stannis fought a scowl from appearing on his near gaunt jaw.

“Welcome to Winterfell, your grace.” Sansa Stark welcomed as their party moved through the repaired gates of Winterfell. Black marks marred the city walls, a reminder of the past; but still, the castle stood. Tall and imposing as it had been the last time he had visited Winterfell many, many years ago. Yet now the walls and its people were scared, hurt by fire and vicious men looking to take the stronghold and its people. They had won the ancient stronghold only for it to be ripped back by its rightful leader. The people that had been left to rebuild when Sansa had left, gazed at her in wonder as she and the direwolf strode through the gates. They had witnessed the justice the queen had brought to the Bolton’s; Sansa Stark was no longer the naïve daughter of a lord, no, now she was a queen in her own right.

Through bloodshed she won back her throne.

...

Stannis couldn’t sleep, so he wandered the halls in hopes of tiring himself when he came across the faint warm light streaming out of the hall. Sansa sat still in a comfortable armchair, her head turned towards the looming fire. Her blue eyes gazing deeply into the bright flames. She looked stricken, afraid almost, the cold mask she had worn, gone. The emotion was clear on her face, tears glistening in the firelight on her reddened cheeks.

Stannis felt like he was intruding on a private moment; she looked so sad. Stannis felt his chest tighten at the sight.

“Lady Sansa?” He decided to do what honour dictated, to see if this damsel was okay?

She turned towards him, her pale hand wiping at her tear-stained cheeks “I apologise. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Stannis felt uncomfortable under her watchful gaze. She still hadn’t spoken. Slowly he went to back up, to leave the queen in peace.

“Please don’t leave...” Sansa whispered. She felt so alone, she just wanted to have some human company.

Stannis froze.

She was asking him to stay?

He strode towards her; Sansa’s red hair glinted in the firelight. Stannis sat across from Sansa in the matching armchair, as Sansa began to speak.

“Memories. They haunt me. Every time I close my eyes, I see my father’s head rolling down the steps to the sept of baelor,”

“I see the white capes of the king's guard as they beat me bloody, I see Joffrey smiling down at me, a sadistic glint in his eyes.” Stannis’s hand tightened around the arms of the chair, so hard that the wood creaked “I had hoped you would win, that night on the Blackwater.” Stannis swallowed shame and guilt surfacing. He had made a mistake in trying to take the Blackwater back then.

“I was so alone, so scared, and right now, it doesn’t feel any different. I am home, yes, I hold power, but I feel as useless as I did back then.”

“You are not useless.” Stannis’s voice was not soft, but gruff and steady. Powerful. Commanding. “You are a queen, I’ve heard them, they call you the wolf queen, the saviour of the North. That is not a feat to be ashamed of.” Comforting crying women was not something Stannis was familiar with. However he could clearly see the pain etched on Sansa’s beautiful pale face, so he tried. Something deep within him ached as he gazed at her. She was so young, yet she had faced unimaginable horrors.

“When Lord Baelish took me from the Red Keep, I thought I was finally safe, finally free. A caged bird no longer,” she shifted in her seat “alas I was wrong, I was caged once more. Little finger only wanted to conquer me. He posed me as his bastard daughter Alayne Stone, flaunted me to the Lords of the Eyrie, was gentle to me when in company, but crass and rough with me in private. He wanted me. Made that clear with forced touches and rough kisses. I wanted none of it.”

“One night he had me cornered in the great hall of the Eyrie. I thought he was going to rape me. He promised as much,” Sansa visibly shuddered at the memories. She didn’t know why she was telling the King this? But it felt like it was the right thing to do. King Stannis was clenching his teeth, his jaw moving, the sound of grinding teeth could be faintly heard. “I was terrified. But something within me snapped; using everything I had I pushed him, hard. He stumbled, and then he fell.”

“Right through the moon door.”

Stannis had seen the infamous moon door in the Eyrie. Anyone who fell from it was doomed.

“After that I ran. I left the Eyrie and I tried so hard to find safety. But then the Bolton’s found me. Lord Roose knew who I was right away, and I was once again dragged back into a cage, this time to be married to the Bolton bastard.”

“Ramsey was a whole new evil, worse than Joffrey. He skinned people alive, fed them to his hounds. A knight by the name of Brienne rescued me right before I was to be married. As we escaped an arrow pierced her skull.”

This girl had seen almost as much death and terror as any battle-worn warrior, Stannis thought.

“I was terrified. I couldn’t go back. I prayed to the old gods, I plead for help, for justice. The wolves appeared soon after.” Memories of her past surfaced, Sansa could remember the day when the wolves had appeared, almost perfectly. She had been on the run from the Bolton's for three days, her dress soaked from the river she had run through to get the hounds of her scent. She was freezing, her extremities turning pale then to blue. Tiredness had soon followed. She traipsed through the heavy snow, her legs growing heavy to the point of her falling to her knees. Her eyes drooped, her teeth clattering as the winds blew. She was so cold. Her head had tipped, her eyes closing. She could feel her heartbeat slowing, then warmth had spread through her. She had sighed. Her eyes closing. Then she had heard it, the howl. Her eyes had snapped open and she could do nothing but stare as a wolf the size of a horse trotted into the clearing; it was a direwolf. Sansa’s eyes had welled up with tears. The wolf stared at her. Something about it had felt familiar to Sansa, almost like home. The trees above her head rustled. Sansa rallied her strength and stood, something deep within her telling her to trust the wolf before her. The wolf huffed before trotting over to Sansa, whose hand slowly reached up to the wolf's head. The direwolf sniffed, tilting its massive head to the side. Sansa had gripped the hair of the wolf tightly between her fists. The wolf had felt so warm. She could remember it now. Her hand clenching against the wooden chaise she was seated in. From there on the wolf had taken her to its pack. There Sansa's strange dreams had begun. Once she could swear she had seen her sister; Arya. A golden sword hanging from her belt, sitting astride a white horse. Nevertheless it had just been a dream; Arya was dead.

“They were my saviours. They are the true saviours of the North.”

Sansa and Stannis stared at each other: Stannis could find no words.

...

  
“Princess, how do you fare?” The red-headed queen enquired as she approached the bed where the princess Shireen lay, covered in thick furs, bandages covering the burns that now marked her small frame.

The small girl smiled up at her. “Much better, thank you, your grace.”

Sansa smiled warmly,

“Thank you for saving me.” The Princess Shireen whispered, “I was so scared.” The girl was tearing up, as memories arose. Of the flames that licked at her skin, at the all-consuming fear she felt, as she watched as her father tried to pull her from the flames. Helpless. Alone. Dying.

Sansa's hand rose to Shireen’s scared cheek, stroking the skin gently. Offering the girl some comfort “You are safe now.” Sansa reassured.

Both Shireen and Sansa were unaware of the imposing figure of Stannis, who stood in the doorway, watching as the Queen in the North comforted his frail daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For story updates follow me on tumblr @the-queen-of-wolves
> 
> I will try my best tp update chapter 3 in the next week 
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and thank you to all for the continued support on this little story! I've really enjoyed writing it; it was very helpful when i needed to procrastinate uni work 😂 😂
> 
> Feedback and or thoughts would be appreciated through kudos and comments 😌

_Chapter Three_

_Wolf Queen_

The Great Hall felt unbearably hot to Sansa, stuffed to the brim with the warm bodies of the northern bannermen, all who had once sworn fealty to the great house of Stark. What was left of the great northern houses had come to her aid. They had heard the whisper of how Sansa won back her holdfast. They admired her, yet they feared her. She was not as they remembered, she was strong, she had changed, no longer was she made of porcelain, now she was steel! She could not be broken, not anymore.

She would not break, not ever again.

Houses Karstark, Mormont, Umber, Hornwood, Mazin, and Glover repledged their allegiance to the North vowing to protect it and all its inhabitants. The Lords of the northern houses listened as Sansa plead her case. She wanted them to march with the Baratheon king. Towards the Frey’s and then to Kingslanding to bring a bloody end to those who had betrayed them. Lady Lyanna Mormont had enthusiastically agreed; she wanted justice for those she lost just as much as Sansa did. Lord Karstark and Glover did not want to risk it; they had lost nearly all their forces when Robb Stark had marched; they were silenced into an agreement when the hulking forms of her wolves appeared. Lord Umber said it was an omen. An omen that the Starks would prosper if wolves followed them like in the days of old. 

Stannis had sat back and watched as Queen Sansa dealt with the allied northern houses- she handled them with ease. These northern lords were nothing compared to what she had dealt with when in Kingslanding. These men were not vipers, not like those who resided in Kingslanding and the upper crownlands. Even those in Dorne were infamous for their snake-like tendencies: Stannis could never rely on an alliance from them, they were more likely to stab him in the back then help him- even if it meant getting rid of all the Lannister’s. Stannis had his suspicions that their allegiance was held elsewhere.

As Stannis observed Sansa handle her court, he realised even with all the prowess and strength behind her, Sansa Stark was a just ruler. She was pragmatic and logical in her decisions, loyal to those who followed her and always listening and learning- she valued council from her most trusted advisors, Stannis included. Since they had met she had interrogated him about battle manoeuvres, food storages, winter preparations, and many more fascinating topics that had his own brain whirling; she was intelligent, her brain one of wonders.

Stannis sipped idly at his water; surprised to taste a hint of lemon in the liquid. Sansa Stark sat beside him; her bright blue eyes watchful over the hall. The men of the northern houses sitting in the lower tables, feasting on the dishes provided by their liege; plates of onion tarts, roast aurochs with carrots, garlic and leek, buttered beets and venison pies that melted on the tongue; the feast was not as opulent as what Stannis had seen in the Red Keep, but it was hearty leaving their bellies pleasantly full. The men and women of the north drank mulled wine and spoke to each other with content smiles on their faces, cheeks red from drink.

A squire loyal to the Queen in the North hurried to the high table leaning down and whispering in the queen’s ear; Stannis leaned forward in his seat in anticipation. Sansa turned to him, her copper hair shining in the candlelight.

She smiled warmly up at Stannis, who was momentarily struck by her beauty.

“It seems you have a visitor, Your Grace.” As Sansa's words left her pretty pink lips, the great hulking doors to the Great Hall opened and in strode Davos Seaworth. Stannis eyes widened slightly, a hint of a smile playing at his lips that seemed to be always downturned, his reaction unseen by the others in the hall, only by Sansa.

Ser Davos Seaworth marched up to the high table, his eyebrows raised, his brown eyes pointing to the full hall behind him: Direwolf on a grey field and a black stag on a field of yellow banners, hung high, on nearly every wall within the hall, “Well, it seems you have been busy, Your Grace.”

… 

“The Frey’s have held the twins for six hundred years, attacking them would be futile,” Dacey Mormont, the new Lady of Bear Island peered over the map that was laid out across the wooden table: old war figurines splattered across the map marking the important players of the game. House Frey held the twins and was allied with House Lannister who themselves held the Westerlands and a majority of the crownlands- many southern lords south of the neck were allied with the great lion. “Our best plan would be to somehow get into the keep and distract them....” The Queen in the north, Sansa Stark sat gracefully in her makeshift throne, and at the mention of Dacey's plan of attack, Sansa paled.

“We will _not_ break guest rights.”

The Lady of Bear Island's eyes widened; she hadn’t meant to imply such a thing. She had been at the ‘Red Wedding’, as the smallfolk had deemed it, and she could never ever bring that upon someone even if it was the Frey’s. Davos Seaworth, the onion knight of Storms End braced his hands against the table, leaning forward and peering at the map- the older man was thinking hard. Sansa could tell by his furrowed eyebrows and squinted eyes

“The only way to get in, is to be invited in, aye?”

Everyone in the solar nodded in agreement “If I may, why not _treat_ with them?” His question was directed at his king, Stannis Baratheon, the word ‘treat’ veiled in misconception.

Stannis fought the urge to grind his teeth “Lord Frey is a greedy man, if you were to offer a marriage between your great house and one of his several daughters or granddaughters, he mayhaps be turned once more.”

Stannis couldn’t help but think that perhaps Davos’s idea was a sound one? Could that be it? Would that be enough for Stannis to sneak his way into the Frey’s, so the queen in the north could wield her justice?

...

Sansa had taken it upon herself to care for the king’s daughter Shireen, to offer the girl some womanly comfort. Shireen after all was young and impressionable, her childhood shrouded by war and an unloving cold mother who despised her for being borne a girl. Sansa’s heart ached for the motherless girl, so she went to her room every morning and listened as the girl prattled on and on about the books the Maester has provided for her all on the history of Winterfell and the rest of the north. She had had some interesting questions about grumkins and snarks even the odd one about white walkers.

Sansa had replied that all were legend, nothing but a myth passed down over the centuries- all this, had done nothing to persuade the girl from looking further into it.

As Shireen would talk, Sansa would brush the girl’s black locks and braid them into a northern fashion. At first, the girl had been afraid of people judging the scars upon her cheeks and had asked for the braid to cover them, but now no more- she wore her hair freely especially after speaking with Dacey Mormont's youngest sister Lyanna, who had told Shireen that ‘scars are like battle wounds, beautiful; as they show what you have been through and how strong you are to have conquered it. And to have done so and live, that was one thing to be proud of, not ashamed of.’ Shireen and Lyanna had come fast friends after that.

Stannis watched from the breakfast table as the Queen in the north chattered to his daughter, both had large smiles on their faces, discussing the duties of Winterfell- his sweet daughter had taken it upon herself to be more helpful around the keep as she would one day need to know of such duties for the marriage that Stannis would one day arrange for her when this god forsaken war was over. Stannis couldn’t help but stare at the form of Sansa, his stormy blue eyes travelling from the toe of her boots to the top of her head where her auburn hair shined, pulled together in what Stannis could only assume was a northern fashion. He did not know why but his eyes were always drawn to her, to Sansa. Over the last moon, Sansa had approached him on several occasions and had spoken honestly with him, nothing was hidden from him especially considering there chat on the night of his arrival, about Winterfell about Shireen, even about her childhood- he was certain that she still felt guilt for the death of her family, something that was no fault of hers.

It was a terrible fate that the great line of Stark had suffered; and Stannis began to realise that Sansa Stark was unlike any other. His respect for the woman grew as each day passed them by.

Stannis sighed, taking his eyes from his daughter and the queen and peered at the parchment that sat beside his breakfast which had mostly gone uneaten- he wasn’t hungry, not when so much was going on. His army and the north prepared to march south: the blacksmiths were currently busy in his forge smithing weapons for his army. The horses were equipped, food was smoked and salted, and armour was polished. They would be leaving any day now, so soon, to the Frey’s first where he had promised Sansa Stark her revenge- the men that rallied themselves to her could be a driving force against Kingslanding, they were needed.

A few months ago, Stannis would have thought this folly but now, it was his only option- this was his last chance to rid the world of the Lannister’s and the abomination that is Cersei Lannister and her incestuous children.

The shuffle of boots against the stone floor hurrying out of the hall allowed Stannis a quick glance upwards, in time to see the back of his daughter’s head as she flew out of the hall in excitement. Sansa Stark sweeped up towards Stannis, her heavy skirts swishing at her sides. When he stares at her, her breath stills in her throat, heart thuds against her chest, and her hands grow clammy. Stannis was not an attractive man, not like the songs spoke of, no he was handsome in a strong way- if anything’s he looked very northern: wide chest, strong arms, and a beard that warmed his chin. His eyes were what caught Sansa's breath almost every time she saw the king, so bright, so blue.

They were beautiful, much like the ocean.

“She is off to see the head servant,” she perched in the chair beside him, her body facing toward him “I had several old winter gowns stowed away when I left for Kingslanding all those years ago, they would be a perfect fit for her.” Sansa’s smile broke as thoughts of Kingslanding surfaced horrible memories.

King Stannis cleared his throat placing the quill he held back into the inkpot, “My thanks,” he breathed, not knowing what else to say: he always seemed to struggle when in her company. Sansa soft hand reached forward and petted at his leather-covered shoulder, warmth from her hand seeping through the layers of fabric to the point where Stannis’s skin almost burned, her fingers stroking the seam ever so slightly. “No thanks are needed, Your Grace.”

And almost as fast as she had sat down, she rose and left, leaving Stannis quietly alone with his own thoughts. Her small touch imprinted on his mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For story updates follow me on tumblr @the-queen-of-wolves
> 
> I will try my best to update chapter 3 in the next week or so but no promises as I have started exam prep 😄
> 
> Feedback and or thoughts would be appreciated through kudos and comments 😌


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I've finally finished exams for this semester so i could finally get back into writing this little fic.  
> I received quite a nasty review fanfiction . net and it really hurt me, but all the people who have left kudos and encouraging comments on here made me realise who i truely write for. Thank you to also those for your continued support, i really appreciate it.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated.

_Wolf Queen_  
_Chapter 4_

_Baratheon banners flapped in the wind, men of all shapes, colours, and sizes marched, the entry to the twins nearly glowing in the distance. Memories of the Red Wedding still haunted her; Arya had seen the arrow pierce her late brother Robb, and had heard the wails as men were killed, then all had gone black as the hound dragged her away. Arya’s grey eyes drifted and landed on the front of the marching company…. There she could see… no. it couldn’t be. last thing Arya had heard Sansa was dead. But there she was, alive and riding a great horse beside a man with blackened hair and a flaming stag on his breastplate. The Baratheon king? It must be._

_Arya could see her sister… she could see Sansa. She cried out, begging her legs to move forward, toward Sansa but her legs refused to budge; she was rooted to the ground, unable to move only able to see, her cries unheard by the people before her. Sansa, beautiful Sansa, had changed since the last time Arya had seen her, she was taller, less lanky, her body no longer that of a girl’s, now she was a woman. Vivid blue eyes, darkened by what she had experienced, her auburn hair pulled back into a northern style, a diadem shining brightly atop her head._

_Arya gasped._

And then she awoke… this time to the canopy of trees that had shrouded her from most of the heavy snowfall.

That dream,… it had felt so real.

Was Sansa alive? Was she marching to the twins? Arya could see only one solution, she packed her horse and turned east towards the crossing of the Frey’s. There she would find out the truth of her dream.

…

Marching south was incredibly taxing, especially in the dead of winter, during wartime and under the guise of a truce. Frey spies would be watching, so Sansa once again adorned the façade of Alayne Stone and her army blended in within the men of Stannis Baratheon. She would have her justice, and soon. The twins were near, perhaps a week’s march away. There the Frey’s would pay for what they had done to her family. From the front of the precession, King Stannis raised his fist and called for the army to halt and make camp for the night; they would continue for the twins on the morrow after the men and horses were rested.

As the hour passed, tents were raised, fires made and stoked, the faint scent of cooking pork wafted in the air; Sansa's stomach rumbled at the smell of the cooking food, a meal would do her well, the ride today had been hard; Stannis Baratheon had pushed his army from Winterfell at a neck-breaking speed, only halting when was necessary- her trip south with King Robert had been much slower all those years ago, especially with the queen who had ordered a wheel-house which broke a wheel every four miles- no wheel houses travelled within this company; Only horses and supply wagons- her direwolves travelled unseen behind them, their howls ringing out when the moon was high.

Sansa wandered through the bustle of camp, avoiding men and women as they hurried by, supplies carried heavily between them, coming to stand before the raised tent of the king. She breathed deeply, suddenly discouraged to enter the tent; being in the king's company made her nervous, his hard piercing blue eyes had a way of making her grow warm. She had to admit that over the last few moons she had grown attracted to the kings imposing form- intelligent and full of intense ferocity. His stormy blue eyes were what had drawn her in, unyielding, and wise beyond her years; when he looked at her, she couldn’t help to wonder why she seems to feel so irremediably taken by him.

Gathering her nerves, Sansa pushed through the flaps of the tent, meeting the unwavering stare of Stannis Baratheon, who peered at her curiously.

“Your grace,” Sansa bowed deeply.

“I was wondering if I could discuss the morrow with you?” Stannis’s eyes followed Sansa's movement as she came to stand unbearably close to his side. The heat of her body, nearly flush against him.

Stannis swallowed, hiding an uncomfortable grimace; did she know what she did to him? Her mere presence filled his imagination with sinful thoughts. Of her alabaster skin flush against him, her pale pink lips burning up his body, her soft moans filling the air. He shifted in his chair, keenly aware of the painful strain in his breeches.

He fought a groan, closing his eyes, and bringing his hands up to rub his face “If you must..”

…

“A weeks ride, and the Frey’s will be at our mercy,” Stannis finished with a scowl indicating that meeting with the Frey’s was not something he would enjoy doing. Stannis loathed to deal with Walder Frey, alas the alliance between House Stark and House Baratheon relied on it. Together they would bring the downfall to house Frey, and then to the abomination that is house Lannister

Smiling brightly, breathing a “Thank you, your grace.” And rising from the chair that she was seated upon. She eyed the king warily, thinking carefully on her next move before throwing caution to the wind, and leaning toward the king, placing a gentle kiss on the king's stubbled cheek.

Stannis’s eyes widened, his mind reeling and in a state of mild shock.

Reddening slightly Sansa made her way to leave, only to be shocked as the firm hand of Stannis Baratheon gripped at her wrist, holding her tightly yet not enough to where she ached from his touch. “Your Grace?” Sansa gasped, the momentum of her speed nearly throwing her back into the king's wide chest.

Stannis turned his gaze down to the fiery queen, his face pulled tautly against his jaw, his prominent scowl unwavering on his hard features. “Do not suffer me with your foolish courtesies, girl.”

Sansa blinked, her face hardening at the glided insult hit her ears, “That was no foolish courtesy, Your Grace!” Her cold voice was as icy as the wind that howls outside of the tent.

Stannis flinched.

“I was merely expressing affection. I apologise if it was unbecoming of me.”

“Wh… why?” Stannis spluttered, his cheeks reddening as he realised his mistake. “Because, your grace, I find you tantalizing,” Sansa confessed, her face unwavering despite the butterflies that filled her stomach.

Words escaped him? She was a beauty, one that had been sought after for over a decade, yet she desired him? He couldn’t understand why? He was not handsome, not pretentious like both of his late brothers- he was pragmatic, steady, loyal and bold In the face of strife, but desired after? That was something new to him. His late lady wife had only every done her duty, she had never desired him. He was shocked, that was an understatement.

“I was not aware you held me to that regard?”

Sansa smiled, stepping closer to the king; “Oh yes, Your Grace, for quite some time now.”

Before Stannis could respond the tent flaps were thrown open and Ser Davos Seaworth rushed into the king's makeshift chambers. Davos eyed the pair quizzically, his eyebrows’ arching at the king's hand still firmly connected to Sansa’s wrist. “My apologies, your graces but a raven, yer grace, of utmost importance.”

Stannis fought the embarrassment that seemed to want to swallow him, letting go of Sansa’s pale wrist, gesturing for Davos to bring the letter forward.

Sansa was tempted to leave the men at their letter reading when the growl echoed from Stannis’s throat. “My la-Your grace,” Stannis abruptly caught his mistake “it seems Tywin Lannister has caught wind of Winterfell been retaken. Him and his armies march north.”

Sansa felt her stomach drop but held steady as she glanced at the king “My wolves will be ready, will you?” her challenge irked Stannis, his teeth grinding as he replied, “Of course.” Stannis said, surprised as to how deep his voice sounded.

“Then the lion comes, soon they shall pay their debts one last time.”

…

The Great Hall of the twins was just as Stannis had remembered it to be from the time of his childhood when he accompanied his brother to be fostered at the Eyrie; large, dark, gloomy, and full of turncoats and whistleblowers. It deeply unnerved him to be within the hall once more, Lord Walder Frey staring down at him from his great table, covered in carvings of the twin towers that protected the neck. Walder Frey was old, greying heavily at the temple, wrinkled skin pulling his face down from the weight of them, looking as if any moment now he would drop dead.

Stannis held his head high.

“Well, well, Lord Stannis Baratheon,” Davos bristled beside him, “what brings you to my great stronghold?”

“His grace,” Davos began, “seeks the alliance of House Frey, that is in the name of marriage between one of your, fine daughters, or granddaughters.”

There were mutters around the hall from the assembly of gathered Frey’s; women stood taller at the prospect of a great marriage.

Walder Frey smirked, his pale face working slightly as his beady eyes surveyed the hall “And, why would I allow that?”

“A marriage between our houses will settle the name of Frey within the succession of the iron throne,”

“One day, a child of Frey shall rule the seven kingdoms” every word that left Stannis’s mouth tasted bitter against his tongue. The idea of tying himself to a Frey was abysmal, though he did ponder briefly on the thought of marrying another great lady. If he was to succeed in this war, the Lords of the seven kingdoms would never allow a woman to seat herself on the iron throne, his poor Shireen would never be queen.

“Or, I could hold your army hostage, and await the arrival of Lord Tywin Lannister.” Walder Frey threw his head back and let out a toothless laugh. Stannis forced himself to stiffen, they had accounted for this in the war room. Stannis tilted his head in consideration “Or,” Walder Frey leaned forward in his opulent chair “I could do this.”

With the worded signal, Davos Seaworth quickly raised his finger shortened hand to his mouth and blew, an ear-piercing whistle leaving his mouth.

Abruptly, the sounds of great howls reverberated through the Great Hall of the twins, men all around them rose, hands on their swords as the listened uneasily to the blaring howls.

Walder Frey stiffened but still smiled “Ha, a trick. Howls do no scare me or my men.”

Stannis's face changed, a small smirk unseen by all but Davos playing at his lips “A trick, it is not.” As the words left Stannis’s mouth, sounds of incredible pain and suffering resounded. The men that had accompanied their king rushed forward, each of them playing their part of this game. One solider disarming the Frey guards at the door, while another rushed forth, sword out as he pulled the heavy doors open...

Frey men rush forward, blood and sweat pooling down their faces, dropping to their knees when they see their lord “She comes, milord, she comes. She seeks her vengeance.” 

Flying from their state of shock, the Frey women scream, and the men bear arms, all turning their attention to the Baratheon king whose sword that glinted like firelight was outstretched.

With a cry, the men threw themselves toward each other, and the battle within the keep began...

…

Sansa did not simper in the face of blood and battle like she had when she was a girl, no now she faced it, now she led it. She adorned her beloved diadem, and plate armour the blacksmith of Winterfell had commissioned and rode forward; the great grey direwolf sprinting between her legs weaving through the men caught unawares by the attack, all preoccupied with the arrival of King Stannis Baratheon.

The grey banners of house Stark were held high as she flew through the battle, among the way her wolf and those who surrounded her tearing out the throats of those who thought they could best her. Men wailed, swords rung, and the north cried, “The north remembers”.

Blood coated her as she and her wolf sprang into the great hall of the twins; the dark gloomy room was filled with the stench of blood, and there Stannis Baratheon stood tall in a pool of it, his sword arm soaring as he parried the blade of a Frey soldier, fearless in the face of danger.

The lord of the crossing turned whiter than a sheet, his mouth was opening and closing. His beady eyes staring widely as Sansa Stark the queen in the north advanced, a dark smirk spread across her blood speckled face, widening as she noticed liquid dripping from the lord's breeches. The small pack of wolves positioned themselves beside her, snarling and growling. Blood coated them, their pale thick coats coloured red.

“Walder Frey, the North remembers,”

Her wolves advanced.

…

Arya could do nothing but stare in amazement and shock as her sister, atop a great direwolf, atop Nymeria, urged the wolf forward and ripped into the assembled Frey men; Sansa looked like she had been brought to life from the pages of a great history book, blood-splattered among plate armour, a crown atop her fire coloured head, smirking as the Frey’s screamed, begging for mercy.

Her sister, Sansa, she had brought justice to the North, lying waste to the great houses of Frey and Bolton; those who had betrayed her were dying or dead, and sweet simpering Sansa had done it.

But no more was she sweet and simpering and afraid, no now she was a wolf incarnate.

…

Even in the heat of battle, Stannis could not help himself from marvelling at the form of Sansa Stark. He could see why the North had begun to worship her; she rose from the ashes of her dead family and brought justice to those who wronged her; vicious, powerful, intelligent in her deathly dance, a queen in her own right.

“Walder Frey, the North remembers,” her voice was ethereal, resounding through the pained cries of battle.

Her army of wolves tore into the Frey’s in delight, their snarls and growls filling the hall; atop her wolf, they charged forward leaping over the high table, Stannis and Davos both ducking out of the way as the table hurdled over their heads. The great direwolf as fast as lightning, severed the lord of the crossings head from his neck with a mighty snarl and the snap of its razor-sharp teeth.

The head dropped to the ground with a loud thud, the Frey’s with everything they had left pushed forward once more. Stannis swung his sword as black Walder, son of Walder Frey launched himself at him. Battle charged anger overwhelmed him, he parried the sword meant for his neck, then threw himself forward, taking Black Walder to the blood-soaked stone floor with a loud grunt.

Twisting Black Walder, threw Stannis’s weight from his body, the latter sliding across the floor; his sword still in his hand, as he rose and advanced on Black Walder, who was pushing himself up from the stone floor. A flash of grey sprinted between the pair, and next thing he saw, Black Walder’s head tumbled off his shoulders, following his greedy father to the grave.

The grey direwolf turned toward him, and Sansa bowed at him- men of Stark and Baratheon gaped in awe, together they shouted, their proud wails resounding off the walls of the blood-covered keep “King Stannis, Queen Sansa, hail to the King and Queen.”

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated.
> 
> EDIT: I may have to add another chapter or two after chapter five just to tie up things nicely; Stay tuned ❤️❤️


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment of weakness for the Baratheon King....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, 
> 
> Thank you for checking back to this story; I've been so busy with my university work i haven't really had time to sit down and write something for fun, so this chapter has been delayed for quite some time. This chapter gets smutty so beware.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated xx

_Wolf Queen Chapter 5_

...

Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock regards the messenger with a deep frown marring his golden skin; as his armada moved north, the golden etch to his skin was slowly seeping away; his green flecked eyes finding the parchment once more; he could barely believe the scrawl before his eyes. King Stannis Baratheon and Sansa Stark had taken the twins, the heads of Walder Frey’s men removed from their bodies, the grey direwolf and golden stag flying high above the gloomy halls of the twins. Everything below the neck was now theirs. Allied to the Starks and Baratheon’s through blood and the pact of vengeance.

He had thought ridding the Westerlands of the Starks would put an end to their unruliness and then the remaining would finally bend to the rule of the crown, but he was wrong. Sansa Stark had not bent, she pulled back and gathered her forces and now she was wreaking havoc to all those who harmed the name of Stark. And the name of Lannister would be sure to follow.

His past doings were coming back to bite him, this Tywin was certain of.

His men were wavering, the rumours of the wolf Queen had reached them and sparked fear within them; his army was a week and a half’s march from the twins and already a quarter of his men had turned and run with their tails between their legs. They were frightened of her. Tywin scowled. He would not follow their example. She was still just a woman. Women were weak, he would put a final end to house Stark by the end of the moon; she would not best the great lion.

“Send for my brother,” Tywin took notice of his whole body shaking in rage, his muscles pulling tight under his skin “Immediately.” He finished coolly.

…

Stannis leaned back in his chair, subconsciously running his finger across the rim of the goblet as he pondered on the day; The thrill of battle still pumped through his veins hours after the bloodshed had ended, his feet and sword arm aching from their endless use. The remaining Frey’s had been bolted up in their rooms awaiting judgement from Queen Sansa Stark. Seeing her in battle earlier that day had stirred something deep within him; she was a warrior queen incarnate, so strong in the face of battle; she was unlike any woman he had ever met.

Stannis was caught unaware as the flaps to his tent where pushed open, the woman that occupied his thoughts, entering.

Sansa bowed her head “Your Grace,”

Stannis glared up at the Queen in the North who had shown her prowess earlier that day in battle, who has shown the King before her that’s trifling with her would be a mistake one that he would never make. Sansa Stark was a beautiful woman, tall- almost towering up to his chin which was unusual for a lady of the seven kingdoms. High cheekbones that could put the Cersei Lannister to shame and flaming auburn air that his hands begged to be dragged through: how was it that he was so unbelievably attracted to just her hair? An odd thing it was. Stannis eyes turned down to where Sansa’s pale hand was placed squarely on his doublet covered chest, eyeing the appendage in scrutiny. Her fingers moved in a soft sweep, somewhat comforting despite the front of his breeches that ached heavily.

Sansa’s eyes flickered up, flicking from his storm blue eyes right down to his slightly chapped lips. Stannis was utterly transfixed on the hand on his chest that rubbed soothing patterns up and down his chest. His whole body had been tensed earlier but now he could feel himself melting into Sansa's touch. Stannis swallowed deeply as Sansa’s other hand found gentle contact with his bearded cheek, her nails scratching ever so slightly over the coarse hair. Stannis groaned, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Seven hells, what are you doing?” Stannis groaned eyes wide in disbelief. Sansa blushed a deep red, slightly embarrassed by her straightforwardness, yet stood her ground, her hand pressing deeper into Stannis doublet covered chest. She had desired him since the moment she met him, and today in battle seeing him swing his sword and slay her enemies had aroused her completely- so it was now or never- in normal instances he would push her away but not today; today he was battle tired and lusting after the skin of a woman. Faster than an asp stinging the flush skin of their prey, Sansa pushed herself into Stannis her hot soft lips touching his in a searing kiss.

Stannis’s eyes snapped open, momentarily stunned. The hot tongue licking wickedly at his mouth nearly his undoing. Parting his lips Sansa tongue stroking his and letting her taste him: not unpleasant, with the taste of lemons?

Stannis’s thick hands moved from sitting idly by his side and travelled up her bodice covered back, pushing Sansa backward until her knees hit the desk with a thud, their kiss uninterrupted. Sansa pulled back to breathe and against any proprietary that Stannis thought her may have had wavered, his lips not stopping, no, instead they moved down her chin and onto her neck where he suckled gently on her pulse point. Sansa's head tipped back, and she moaned sinfully.

“We shouldn’t be doing this...” Stannis groaned pulling back, yet Sansa’s hand that had been against his chest held him to her “Please don’t...”

“Stannis,” between small kisses up Stannis stubble covered neck, causing a groan to leave Stannis’s mouth “Please,” her hand grasped his pulling it to her body, stroking his fingers downwards “Just... t-touch me,” Sansa begged breathlessly.

Stannis groaned, throwing proprietary to the wind. Stannis touched his lips to hers and kissed her with searing passion, his tongue seeking hers, his teeth gently pulling at her lips; his hands travelling up her back to her corset strings. Swiftly, he began undoing them, giving Sansa a moment to object which she did not. She only moaned in contempt, her own hands bracing her against the table as Stannis rubbed his body against hers. Oh, he liked this, looking at her, in a moment of pure ecstasy. Her eyes glazed over, her pink pale lips slightly open as she breathed deeply, her chest heaving, up and down. His eyes immediately drawn to her chest, oh the bodice hid it well, but he just knew she was gifted by the gods in that department. His erection filled pants begged for attention, rubbing up against the skirts of Sansa dress.

Stannis pulled the strings until they were all loose and her dress fell forward slightly. Sansa took it upon herself to shimmy out of the sleeves letting the gown fall to her feet in a pile of beautiful fabric, leaving her in nothing but her thin shift that left nothing to be imagined. Stannis could faintly make out her pink taut nipples through the fabric. He groaned, pushing Sansa back once more. His lips going straight to her neck, travelling down and down, to the straps of her shift which he nearly ripped from her shoulders, evidently freeing her breasts from their last confines. Sansa moaned as Stannis attacked her nipple with fever, his lips licking, biting, tasting her flavour. He didn’t leave her other breast wanting, no his other hand massaged the breast between his hand, his finger pinching delicately at her pert little nipple. Sansa’s breath increased, her head falling back, shots of pleasure jolting straight to her core, where she could feel herself become wetter at Stannis ministrations. Sansa moves her hand to Stannis breeches only grazing lightly over the bulge, only to be pushed away. Stannis looked at her, his eyes staring into hers, his cheeks red from pleasure. “No,”

“For you only tonight.” Sansa’s brows furrowed, about to object when Stannis dropped to his knees and pulled the shift that had caught on her curvy hips down to her feet to join the rest of the fabric at her feet. With minimal strength Stannis laid his hand against her soft stomach and pushed gently, urging Sansa to brace herself against the wooden worktable. Oh, how he wished he could have her like this on the painted table in Dragonstone, what a sight it would be. Stannis lips kissed gently at her thighs, his hands tapping her legs begging her to open them. Stannis nearly combusted at the view. Soft red curls glistened at her centre, her pink lips glinting with her lust. She was so wet for him and only from some kisses and touches. He could barely believe the sight before him.

He dipped a finger inside of her and quickly pushed his longest finger in, not affording himself the time to change his mind, he had surely passed the road of no return.

Sansa gasped, her inner walls tightening, squeezing around his finger. She was so wet...  
he wished it wasn’t his finger inside of her, he wished it was his cock, wished for her to squeeze him like that. He slowly brought his fingers in and out in a slow-motion noting how tight she was as he entered her again.

Sansa moaned, her head thrown back in pleasure, her lips parted, and her eyes closed tightly, that feeling of heat low in her gut-growing higher and higher. Sansa squeaked as one of his other fingers found the pearl between her curls and stroked it in a circular motion. Sansa’s eyes closed, dizzy with desire. Her world spinning.

Stannis removed his finger from her pearl and as Sansa began to object his mouth found it instead. Sansa nearly screamed in pleasure! His rough tongue circling her nub, in the most pleasing sensation. Pleasure rocketed through her, her breaths coming out in hot fast pants at the ministrations for the King below her. His bread rubbed elegantly at the apex of her thighs, something deep within her building. As his mouth worked, licking and sucking on her little bud, his finger finding their way back inside of her, her inner walls clamped greedily around his finger. He pushed and pulled his finger inside of her while at the same time twirling, pushing and rubbing her little bud with his tongue. Her breathing became faster and her inner walls clamped harder around his fingers; Sansa soon reached her climax, her juices spilling over his face and hand. Stannis licked greedily at her mound, enjoying the taste of her juices on his tongue; Sansa heavy moans of ecstasy music to his ears.

Stannis moved his body up hers kissing her body as he went until he reached her face where he left a lingering kiss on her lips, his hand pulling her shift up her body, slapping the straps back into place, over her shoulders.

Sansa’s face was flushed, confusion evident in her eyes. Stannis leaned down and pulled her heavier gown up her body, slipping the sleeves over her arms, his fingers grazing the laces as he gently pulled her corset closed “Get some rest, my Queen…”

…

Arya quite as a mouse crept through the camp in the midst of celebration; fires burned bright, ale flowing, and the cheers of men floating up to the sky, following the billowy form of smoke. The battle had ended, and Arya had fallen back as the Baratheon men and those that were loyal to her family disarmed and shoved blades deep into the bare necks of the Frey’s who had not escaped the battle; then night had fallen, and Arya wandered through the camp in disbelief. Here stood the strength of two great houses, both thought to be decimated by the lions of Casterly Rock.

Arya gaped as wolves passed by in the shadows, blood still speckling their fur from the battle; how Sansa had managed garnering the support of wolves was beyond her. Arya abruptly halted, her Stark grey eyes landing on the large grey form of Nymeria. Her direwolf.

Years before she had sent her off, fearing her safety and now here she stood protecting and fighting for her sister. Tears pooled within Arya's eyes, swallowing , Arya tenderly stepped forward. Seeing the direwolf earlier had been a massive shock to her system, something she really hadn’t been able to comprehend; but now, she stood less than six feet away from her, the memories flashing back.

Nymeria tilted her head, eyeing Arya with uncertainty “Nymeria?” her voice broke, her feet stepping further forward. Nymeria narrowed her eyes “Nym, it’s me. Its Arya .” The great direwolf pranced forward, her nose high in the air as she scented the air.

Something intelligent and knowing clouded the wolf's eyes; the great beast hurled herself towards the smaller frame of the girl, throwing herself into Arya’s arms in greeting. Her big tongue still coated in blood licking long streaks along Arya’s soot-covered cheeks.

“Oh I’ve missed you Nym,” her hands held tight to Nymeria, disbelieving that this was reality.

“Now, where is dear Sansa?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In regard to the next chapter, ill try and write it as soon as possible but no promises- i have had some writers block with this story so hopefully the words will find me soon.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and thank you for checking back with this story. Apologies for the delay on this chapter i was struggling with some writers block. I also apologise if there is any mistakes within this chapter- i have tried my best to edit them. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated xx 😌

_Wolf Queen Chapter 6_

_“Get some rest, my Queen ..”_

…

Stannis wouldn’t let himself continue, and it took everything within himself to stop. All he wanted to do was sheath himself inside of her: the tightness of her inner walls clamping on his fingers had felt exquisite: warm and soaking wet. His cock had ached heavily against his trousers, begging to be inside of her, yet he had restrained himself: Sansa was a maiden, she did not deserve for her virginity to be taken roughly against a desk in the middle of a war encampment.

Stannis peered down at the woman before him, confusion evident on her pale face: her cheeks flushed from pleasure, red hairs mused and sticking up in every direction, lips parted still begging for the touch of his, bosom falling heavily up and down. Stannis inhaled deeply, urging the pleasure that throbbed in his pants to dissipate. “I-I’m sorry,” Unshed tears glistened then the Queen s sparkling blue eyes “did I displease you?” Sansa's heart thudded in her chest, the dress she had disrobed of earlier now adorning her body, Stannis hands resting delicately on her chest as his fingers twined the laces together. His words had felt like a dismissal? Was she not good enough for him? She had basically thrown herself at him, hadn’t she? Sansa has wanted him with every fibre of her body, his touch deliciously sinful against her skin had awakened a dormant beast within her: his claim to her neck as his fingers worked inside of her shaking the pleasure deep from her core: nothing like she had ever felt before!

Stannis’s eyes widened, aware that he had to step carefully, or he might offend her “Seven hells, no you -.” Before the entire sentence could leave his mouth the flaps to the tent were thrown open and Sansa’s wolf barrelled into the tent, a small figure following closely behind. Stannis stiffened, his hand going to the dagger that was permanently resting at his side, pushing Sansa safely behind him as the figure emerged from the shadows.

A gasp escaped Sansa's lips.

The figure was a girl, short hair cropped above her shoulders, rounded cheeks and small lips pulled into a thin line. Her eyes stood out to Stannis, he had seen those eyes before, mirrored in the late Eddard Stark.

“Arya?” Sansa stuttered, her blue eyes blown wide. She must have been hallucinating! Arya was dead.

“Hello, sister,”

The tears that had threatened to fall slipped from her eyes- side-stepping Stannis, Sansa pulled Arya into her embrace, holding the girl tight to her chest as sobs escaped the two of them. Arya let the girl that was hidden within her slip past the stone wall that held her emotions at bay as she fell into the embrace of her sister, she was home. Sansa was everything that Arya had missed, she smelt of home, of snowcapped trees and mountains, of the dark earth of Winterfell speckled with trodden red leaves from the Weirwood tree: memories of her childhood pulled at her, her chest tightening as tears fell from her grey eyes. Held in the embrace of her sister was as close to home Arya had been in a long while, and it was wholly revitalising. Her life had been a mess of sorrow from the moment she had fled the capital, the death of her family, of her mother and brothers, had only forlorn her more. Yet, at that moment, in the warm comforting arms of her sister, Arya felt the sorrow subside. Their hug a whisper of those her mother had given her many years before when Arya had run crying to her mother about a game gone wrong, easing the pain that had followed her for years, even if it was just enough to put the darkness at bay. A light in the dark...

Sansa smiled down as she surveyed her sister's grubby form; her hair was shorter than she remembered, taller but still smaller than she, her grey eyes haunted speaking volumes of what Arya had seen over the last few years.

“I thought you were dead- they told me you died?”

“They lied. I escaped the capital when father died.” hurt was etched deep on their faces as Arya mentioned their father, Sansa gulped back even more tears from falling “A man from the Night's Watch found me, he said he would take me to Jon. He cut my hair and made me look like a boy. He died on our travels.” Arya lamented.

“I was captured by the Lannister’s,” Sansa gasped. Stannis shuffled back to his desk, trying his best to remain silent, lest he disrupt the family’s reunion. “They didn’t know who I was. Tywin Lannister made me his cupbearer. I should have sliced his throat when I had the chance- Robb might still be here if I did.” Arya’s grey eyes shone with pure rage. At the memory of Tywin Lannister, at a chance missed and thrown to the wind.

Sansa smiled sadly, cupping Arya’s cheeks in her hand, Stannis from his desk choosing that moment to interrupt “Your brother was a fine warrior, but he was not a politician. His mistakes were his end, not yours. If you had ended Tywin there and then, Walder Frey and Roose Bolton would have still turned their cloaks.” Stannis explained stiffly.

Sansa agreed with the king, nodding to Arya to continue “A faceless man saved me soon after, but not before he gave me a coin. A coin that garnered my entry into the collage of the faceless men. They trained me but wanted me to forget you, to forgot my family- to become no one. I couldn’t do it. I escaped, and I came back to Westeros. I was going to finish my list, but then I heard you were alive and dealing out justice to those who had wronged our family.” Arya didn’t explain how she knew, for the dream that she had would make her look mad.

“I arrived just as you rode into the keep of the Freys sitting atop Nymeria.”

Sansa’s eyes widened, her eyes darting to the form her the large grey Direwolf, to Nymeria.

Nymeria prowled up to the pair of Starks, one who eyed the beast with wonder “That’s Nymeria?” Sansa gasped, in an utter state of disbelief. Ironically, the she-wolf that had protected her sister years before now protected herself. “I- I didn’t know. I thought she may have been one of the stray Direwolves that had passed the wall, I didn’t know it was her. She and her pack saved me when I escaped the hold of the Bolton’s.”

“I assumed she was a stray from the wall.” Sansa clutched her arms tight to her. Tears shining in her Tully blue eyes as she stared intently at Nymeria. All this time Sansa had been leading a pack, atop her sisters Direwolf.

Arya chuckled at the irony.

…

The Lannister’s approached in the black of night, unaware to the wolves that followed their march; as the armada of ten thousand strong, weary and frozen to their boots neared the ugly keep of the twins, Nymeria tilted her head and howled. Her howl louder than any war Horn, shattering the thinly veiled peace that surrounded the encampment that was the Baratheon and Stark entourage. War comes for them. A battle for the history books would take place when the lions, wolfs and stags entered into a fight for revenge and justice.

…

Sansa covered in blood was pushed to her knees before the tall form of the great lion Tywin Lannister. Once Tywin Lannisters presence had frightened her, his golden form and piercing eyes had shaken her to her very core, but no more were his eyes piercing and skin golden, to Sansa the great lion was no more, for all she saw was an old man. Sansa’s blood speckled face as hard as stone as she stared boldly into the green flecked eyes of the Lord of Casterly Rock.

She couldn’t believe what had happened. The battle was swaying in their favour: atop her wolf, she tore through the men in red, snarls and growls of her pack echoing beside her, and then something out of nowhere tackled her and her mount to the ground, her body thumping hard against the soil, shock rolling through her body in shock as ribs cracked and skin broke. Sansa had gasped as the air was knocked out of her. Nymeria whimpered from the ground a large, arrowed bolt sticking out of the wolf’s pale fur- Sansa shuddered, a cry of shock falling from her throat. The battle faded into the background; Sansa couldn’t breathe. Her chest rose heavily, as air trickled into her lungs: Sansa’s eyes followed blood as it dripped from the wound in her packmates side. Tears rose in her eyes, and slid down her cheeks, her throat swelling with emotion. Nymeria fell to the forward, a pain-filled whimper rising from the wolf.

“Nym...” Sansa cried. She pushed herself through the pain radiating from her chest as she crawled across blood-soaked soil to the form of her wolf. As Sansa neared Nymeria her hand a hairbreadth away from stroking the soft fur- the cold metal of vambraces stroking her ear as her red hair was pulled thrusting her body back away from the failing form of her wolf.

Sansa shrieked in pain, her hair pulling as her body was pulled up to the hulking form of the mountain: unmistakable by his hulking form and black steel of his bucket helm: the mountain was grotesque and stinking of death. Sansa whimpered.

“Lord Tywin will wish you _deal_ with you...”

Effortlessly the mountain threw Sansa over his shoulder, the metal of his armour digging into the soft flesh that escaped through the breaks of her own plate armour. Sansa screamed, her fist thudding against his armour covered back as he strode into the fray of battle. Sansa’s eyes never once left the form of Nymeria. Tears fell from her eyes: Nymeria's chest rising and falling, slower and slower. As the form of Nymeria turned into a speck as the distance grew, Sansa could make out as Nymeria drew one final breath, lifted her heavy head, and howled- a deep mournful sound, heard over the noises of battle, warning their allies. The Queen had been taken...

...

Sansa stared up at the Lord Tywin Lannister, unwavering where many would be terrified out of their minds: Tywin Lannister’s reputation was formidable, the House of Castamere no more because of his prowess, and politically wretched mind.

“Lady Sansa Stark...” Sansa vaguely remembers the old lion from her time at court: even Joffrey had feared Tywin Lannister. No beatings came when he was near less his grandson disappoint him. Sansa’s perfectly shaped copper eyebrows arched ever so slightly. She remained silent.

“It seems you and your would-be rebellion has become quite the inconvenience,”

“Alas your part will end now,” Tywin all but growled. Sansa scoffed levelling her gaze to his. Fury burning bight within her.

Tywin glared down at the woman.

…

  
As Nymeria's mournful howl rang out through the battlefield, something deep within Arya shattered, her knees falling to the blood-soaked soil. Something was wrong. Arya’s vision clouded, her eyes turning white as she was transferred to the east corner of the battle where dead Lannister soldiers were littered across the ground, circling her. Her eyes caught the flash of a grey paw: Arya now aware that she had warged herself into Nymeria. Pain ached deep within her chest, a whimper escaping her mouth. Nym urged Arya to lift their head towards the horizon where the figure of the mountain retreated behind Lannister lines, the thin form of Sansa beating into the backplate of the mountain as she screamed and fought, trying to be let go.

Staying in Nym's body became difficult, her lungs felt like they were filled with fluid, raspy breaths grew shallower and shallower, until one last breath pushed forth and Arya was expelled from Nymeria’s body back to her own. Tears flowed freely from her grey eyes, as a sob of grief left her mouth. It felt like her whole being had been torn in two. Nymeria was dead and Sansa was taken hostage by the Lannister army. Steeling her emotions, Arya’s eyes hardening as she lifted herself from her knees, her eyes falling to the east. A flurry of activity to her right caught her attention, a man cloaked in red running at her, sword raised as he screamed in fury.

Arya glared, as swift as a deer, turning on her heel and lifting needle, deftly sliding the blade home, right through the man’s throat. Blood gushed from the opening as she unsheathed her blade, the man's cry of fury dying with him as he slumped to the ground.

…

  
Sansa levelled her gaze to the Lannister lion, watching his every move as he hovered over the map of Westeros. Shadows flickered around the tent, the fire roaring in the fire pit. Lord Tywin flexed his jaw, his hand clenched at his side as he surveyed the map “The mountain and an entourage of my most loyal men with transport you back to the capitol. After I put an end to the Stag King I will travel back and find you a suitable match: hopefully, a husband will beat some sense into you!” Tywin’s lips quirked ever so slightly, at the thought of finally bending the wolf into submission.

Sansa’s eye darkened, the threat of the lion tying her to another man-made bile rise in her throat. Sansa tilted her head considering her next words. The fire flickered, the winds howled. The tent flaps opened; a lone figure dressed in red entering the spacious tent. The figure was small, clearly designated as a squire by the size of him, mousy brown hair pulled up and away from his soot-covered face. “Milord?” The boy's voice was soft and piqued recognition within Sansa's stomach.

“Speak.” The Lord all but barked. “News from the frontline.” The boy moved forward almost floating towards the Lord, a piece of parchment outstretched in his hand. Lord Tywin snatched the paper from the squire turning from him and towards the fire, ignoring the boy: as if he were nothing, ripping the seal open his eyes darting across the scrawl of black text. The squire turned to Sansa then, grey eyes twinkling in the firelight. Something about those eyes and the way the boy moved spoke of familiarity to Sansa. Something she could not ignore, unlike the Lord before her. Sansa’s wrists bound behind her back, burned, her knees shifting slightly in the cold soil beneath her. Tilting her head like the wolves of her pack, Sansa watched the boy curiously. Aware that this boy was not just a squire, no this boy was a threat. But the question was, was he a threat to her? Or to the lion of Casterly Rock?  
The boy lifted his pale hand to his soot-ridden face, swiping his delicate fingers across his face, ripples appearing as that face was removed and Arya Stark, her wild sister appeared. Sansa’s eye widened, back straightening as she gazed widely up at her sister. Arya smirked at her sister holding a single finger to her lips in a plea to remain quiet as she snuck up behind the Lord. Quickly and quietly Arya danced to the back of the Tywin, quickly glancing at Sansa. Unspoken words spilling between the twos locked eyes. He would not have the last word, not now, not when death was so close to his door. Unbeknownst to him.

“The end of your House is near Lord Lannister,” Sansa spat, her blue eyes blazing as she watched gleefully as Arya Stark, swiftly wrapped her arm around the neck of the man, muscles bulging, bringing her blade to his neck and slicing deep into the spongy flesh. Lord Tywin barely had time to react as the blade left his throat and lifeblood gushed forward. Parchment fell to the ground as Tywin clutched at his throat trying to stem the blood that was gushing from his throat. Violent gurgling leaving his throat as he tried to yell for his guards. Arya had severed his vocal cords. No saviour came for him.

“The North does not forget, Lord Tywin. We remember, we do not forget. Your legacy ends with you.” Sansa rose from her knees, hands still bound, stalking toward the Lord as his blood spilled from his throat, the mighty lion falling to his knees before the rightful Queen of the North. Kneeling. Submitting in death to the power of the North.

…

The battle raged on, Stannis Baratheon right on the front-line smashing soldiers to pieces with his sword and fists. Blood, mud, and other unpleasant smells shrouded the air. It was difficult to breathe, but that did not stop the men in yellow and grey from charging into a sea of red. Wolves snarled, barked, and tore through the ranks. Squealing when blades pierced their hides, but not falling. When a blade hit, they came back stronger and harder tearing into the Lannister soldiers with a fury that honoured his family’s House motto.

Stannis grunted; a Lannister soldier threw all his weight into Stannis. They fell to the snow-soaked ground twisting and turning. Their swords were forgotten beside them; their gauntlet covered fists thrashing into the minimally armoured parts of their bodies. The Lannister’s helmet knocked away after a hard blow of Stannis right fist, his other fist coming down straight after as he hammered the man's skull in. Bones cracked, blood poured, the man screamed. Then he didn’t. His screams dying with him.

No rest came for Stannis. His sword was picked up and he launched himself into the throes of men. His men gained more land, Lannister soldiers falling like flies. In his peripheral Stannis narrowed his gaze as he noticed nearly every single wolf around him lift their snouts and howl. If howls could reflect emotion, these howls almost sound triumphant. Over the hill, horse hoofs thundered. Digging his feet into the soil Stannis prepared himself for another onslaught of the Lannister men. But what came over the hill shocked him to his core. Riding among two Snow White war horses, grey banners held high and flying in the cold winter wind Sansa Stark, the Queen in the north, and her wild sister Arya Stark charged toward the front-line running into reassembling lines of Lannister men. Hundreds of wolves charging behind them, snarling and ripping into the red soldier with a renewed hunger. As Sansa Stark neared him, her blue eyes locked to his. The woman smirked, leaning down her horse, and grasped something round. Lifting high above her head, Sansa Stark screamed, her voice piercing the sounds of the battle as she held the bloodied head of Tywin Lannister, gleaming in the fresh sunlight high above her head. The lines of Stark and Baratheon men cheered, before turning to the Lannister soldiers who began to flee and smashed into them in a victorious fury. This battle was nowhere near over, but the king had been toppled, and soon the rest of them would _fall_.


End file.
